


The Christmas Caper

by SimplyShelbs16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After the phone call, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, F/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Romance, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16
Summary: Sherlock and Molly haven't spoken in months since the phone call. Though both are aware of the other's feelings, they're at a standstill. Enter: Mycroft Holmes with an elaborate plan to bring them together.
Relationships: Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 63
Kudos: 112
Collections: 2020 Twelve Days of Sherlolly





	1. Prologue: Maybe Next Time

The freezing, crisp December air bit at Molly’s skin, her nose turning a bright shade of pink. Her lingered gaze was fixated on the door of 221B. She’d been doing this for weeks now on her day off, taking a stroll through the London streets, always ending on Baker Street. She and Sherlock haven’t spoken since that heart wrenching phone call his sister put them through. It was Mycroft who filled in the blanks surrounding it, though Molly knew he hadn’t told her everything that happened that night; only the part that concerned her.

She knew it hadn’t been Sherlock’s fault; he didn’t want to hurt her, but it didn’t make the pain lessen any. The truth of her heart was deeply personal and it was never meant to be spoken out loud. Molly had been content with their friendship. To have Sherlock in her life as her best friend was better than not having him at all. This wasn’t a case of wondering if he loved her the way she loved him. She knew he did—had known it since his return from the dead—but she was also aware he would never truly act upon those feelings.

So now, instead of just picking up the bloody phone when he called or texted, Molly had resorted to checking in on him from a distance. She laughed humorlessly. “I’m a stalker,” she muttered to herself dryly. “Time to be brave, Molly.” She began to cross the street.

* * *

Sherlock looked out upon Baker Street as he did every Tuesday morning. Well, every Tuesday since The Incident, as he’s chosen to calling the phone call that tore him and Molly apart. She was across the street as always, her eyes fixed on the door. Not once did she ever come close to going inside. The renovations were mostly done now. There was just the matter of replacing a couple of furnishings.

His lips quirked up in a crooked smile when he noticed that Molly was talking to herself. He knew she only did that when she was nervous or trying to convince herself to do something. Right now, it looked like it might be both. She appeared to have decided to leave, and so Sherlock began to turn away until he saw her take a step across the street. He held his breath in anticipation, feeling silly as a nervous grown man with a schoolboy crush.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

Sherlock loved her, more than he could articulate out loud. Molly Hooper had held his heart in her soft capable hands for years; much longer than he realised. She approached the door and his chest ached with the rapid beating of his heart. He hoped that she’d be brave enough for the both of them. Sherlock felt like a coward for having not gone to see her that night. He should have. Molly was reaching out for the door and then she dropped her arm down in defeat.

“Maybe next time,” Sherlock said softly before turning away.

* * *

“Maybe next time,” Molly sighed as she walked away. 


	2. A Little Help From Their Friends

Only two weeks ‘til Christmas and Molly still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to talk to him. He was just a text or call away. She knew he loved her, so why was it so bloody difficult? The day she had was one from hell. Throw in one emotionally charged autopsy on a child, the frustrating event of spilling her—thankfully—lukewarm coffee all over her lab coat, and add in a dash of hopelessness over her situation with Sherlock, and you got a very distraught Molly Hooper.

She was so lost in her thoughts, it was hard to pay any attention to what was on the telly. Molly wished a magical solution would fall into her lap. Just like clockwork, there was a knock at the door that took her out of her head for the first time since she got home. She looked and felt like a mess, but it didn’t particularly matter in the moment.

“Hey, Molls,” Greg greeted her semi-seriously. “Up for a drink? I’m buying.”

A quick look at what she was wearing—jeans and a dark red jumper with black skulls on it—and Molly agreed. She slipped on her flats, and they headed out together.

* * *

Sherlock sighed at the arrival of his unwelcome guest. “I’m not in the mood, Mycroft.” His brother ignored him like always and sat opposite him in John’s usual chair.

“Whether you’re in the mood or not, brother mine, I feel I need to intervene with your personal affairs once more.” Mycroft took in his little brother’s sullen expression. Somehow, he needed to convince him to stop being so stubborn. “Well, if you’re not going to talk, I will. The phone call, Sherlock”—the detective’s head snapped right up, his eyes daring his older brother to continue—“however hard that was, it does not mean you should abandon all hope.”

Brows furrowed, Sherlock looked on curiously. “Since when is Mycroft Holmes an optimist?” His brother began to open his mouth, but Sherlock stopped him. “Wait, don’t tell me. It appears you’ve put on a couple of pounds, but you’ve been extremely faithful to your diet. You typically look weary in the eyes, but somehow, they now show you’re genuinely happy. Anthea always travels with you, and your tie isn’t quite straight. Hell must have frozen over because you’re finally seeing things my way. I hope the two of you are _very_ happy together.”

Mycroft gave a wry smile. “We are. But we aren’t here to talk about my personal affairs—we’re here to talk of yours, or lack thereof. I am aware that Doctor Hooper visits Baker Street—and only the street—on her day off. Why do you never meet her halfway, Sherlock?”

“Why do you care? I thought sentiment and romantic entanglements were to be avoided; you said so yourself, and now you’ve found yourself a goldfish.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. _And before I could manage to speak a word to Molly, too_ , Sherlock thought.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, brother mine. If you want to be with her, you have to go to her. What is stopping you, honestly?” Mycroft wasn’t used to his brother conceding when he didn’t get what he wanted. There was fear in Sherlock’s eyes at the mere thought of talking to Molly. “You’re scared. The worst thing that could happen—“

“Would be if she rejected me, and I don’t mean just romantically. If I lost her friendship too, I don’t know what I’d do. And yes, I know, it’s silly to avoid her, because in a way, it’s as if I’ve already lost her. But I haven’t. She continues to go out of her way to come here even if she doesn’t come inside.” Sherlock took a shaky breath. “The day she stops is the day she gives up.”

Realisation dawned on Mycroft. “You’re waiting for her to give up. You want to be with her, but it is selfish in your eyes, as her life would, no doubt, be in constant danger.”

Sherlock stood from his chair, and turned away from his brother, walking towards the window. “This was an excruciating visit, brother, let’s not do it again.”

Recognising the dismissal, Mycroft did as Sherlock asked for once. He did hate seeing his baby brother in such dire straits. As for Molly Hooper, well, Mycroft had no trouble admitting he was fond of her. If Sherlock were to choose someone to live out the rest of his days with, Doctor Hooper was an exemplary choice. He only hoped it wasn’t too late for them. It would take a little push to get them in the same room together, but it was do-able. Mycroft began making plans, starting with a phone call to none other than the matriarch of the Holmes family.

“Yes, Mummy? We have a bit of a situation.”

* * *

Greg Lestrade knew something had happened between Sherlock and Molly the moment she was mentioned by John in front of the detective. An overwhelming sadness—grief?—seemed to wash over Sherlock. That same sadness was evident in Molly’s eyes now as she sipped on her glass of whisky, lost in her thoughts.

“Molls, I don’t know the details of what went down that night, but it’s serious enough to frazzle the two of you,” Greg pointed out. “Sherlock hasn’t been taking cases and you’ve barely been eating. I’d say the same of him, but his eating habits are normally like that.”

She took a deep breath, and turned to meet Greg’s eyes. “It’s kind of a long story, though I still don’t know everything. All I know is Sherlock has a sister he had kept so deeply hidden in his mind, he didn’t remember her. She has psychosis, is extremely intelligent, and orchestrated this whole situation. Mycroft told me she had Sherlock convinced she’d placed bombs in my flat, and would detonate them if he didn’t get me t—to say”—her breathing shook—“I love you.” 

Lestrade’s eyes widened in shock. “Jesus,” he remarked. “And you two haven’t spoken since?”

Molly confirmed this with a shake of her head. “Every week, on my day off, I venture to Baker Street to try and convince myself to just walk up the stairs to his flat, but I’ve not been able to. The closest I came to it was reaching for the door.” She took in Greg’s pitying expression. “I know, it’s pathetic.”

“You’re in love, Molly. It’s not silly or pathetic. You two went through a traumatic experience together. Avoiding each other is the worst way to go about things. You should be healing together.” Greg so desperately wanted to help his friends, but it wouldn’t do any good if neither of them were willing to help themselves. Briefly, he wondered if Mycroft was having any luck with Sherlock.

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

Greg placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “That’s how you know it’s worth it. If you weren’t scared, there wouldn’t be risk involved. Where there’s risk involved, you know it’s something pretty damn important. I’m willing to bet he’s just as scared as you.”

Molly laughed in disbelief. “Sherlock Holmes scared? I’m not so sure about that.”

“Let’s look at it this way: he’s a big risk taker, and yet, he hasn’t bothered to risk anything with you. That tells me he’s scared. He can’t deny his feelings for you—we’re all aware of them.” Greg prided himself on a job well done when realisation appeared to hit Molly. Maybe it wasn’t too late for them. His phone pinged with a text from Mycroft.

**Sherlock won’t budge. I do have a plan set in motion. Your assistance will be needed when the time arises. I’ll be in touch.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could Mycroft be planning? He's certainly got a whole network of Sherlock and Molly's friends helping :p


	3. Surprise Guest

John Watson looked around Sherlock’s parents’ home, his memories resurfacing of the last time he was here…with Mary. Now he was here without her, but he was here with Rosie. It wasn’t the time to get lost in his thoughts. There was work to be done. He, Greg, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, and Mycroft (along with a few other willing players) had decided enough was enough. Something had to be done about what Anderson dubbed ‘The Sherlolly Thing.’ If only his best friend knew that’s what everyone called them for brevity’s sake.

It felt peaceful in the sitting room with its rich red walls and fireplace. Rosie was fast asleep in the crib that was once Sherlock’s. The quiet life of living in the country—it was a fantasy, of course, but one could dream. John sank down into the chair Mary had once occupied and closed his eyes.

“Mikey, what did I tell you about leaving your computer on the dinner table!?” Mrs. Holmes reprimanded him.

“And as I have said before, the name you gave me is Mycroft. If you didn’t want to say it in full, perhaps you shouldn’t have bestowed the name upon me. Whilst we’re at it, Sherlock and Eurus aren’t terribly good names, either!”

Glass shattered.

“For God’s sake, Mycroft, stop goading our mother!” Sherlock shouted.

So much for a moment’s peace.

* * *

Her eyes fluttering closed, Molly Hooper was almost asleep. She knew she couldn’t; she was in her office, and this paperwork wasn’t gonna file itself. It was only late afternoon. Exhausted, but determined to stay awake, she rose from her chair and decided to stretch her legs with a walk down the corridor. Maybe she’d grab a bag of crisps on her way back. She glanced over at her calendar—only three days ‘til Christmas. And it had been three months since she last spoke to Sherlock. She hadn’t even seen him since his recovery from the Culverton incident. Molly thought that he had gone barmy with such a plan. Risking his life like that…it nearly broke her.

As she stepped out of her office, she noticed Greg and Mike talking, making their way down toward her.

“Molly!” Mike greeted her with a smile. “Lestrade says he needs you for a case. It’s urgent. You up for it?”

Just the thought of going out made her feel so tired, she yawned. Despite her fatigue, she couldn’t resist helping. She just wasn’t programmed that way. “Alright, let me get the rest of my things,” she told them.

Greg spoke frantically. “No time, we have to go now.”

As Mike watched Molly and Greg walk away, he nodded approvingly. This exceedingly complicated plan was working out. Everyone thought Sherlock was the drama queen of the two brothers, but Mycroft just may have him beat in that department.

* * *

Outside there was a black car waiting for them. Molly recognized it as one of Mycroft’s cars. Now, she was worried. “Greg, what’s going on?”

“Sorry, Molls, but it’s not me who needs your help. Mycroft is the one who requested your presence,” Lestrade admitted sheepishly.

She felt her whole world stop. If this was so urgent, then—“Sherlock; is he alright? Has he been hurt?” _Or worse?_ Molly shook the thought from her head.

The back window rolled down, revealing a brunette woman who looked like she ran the world. Though, perhaps, since she worked with Mycroft, she probably did. “Doctor Hooper, it is imperative that we go now. I promise all will be revealed once we arrive.”

Looking back at Greg one last time, Molly shot him a look of unease before getting into the back of the car. The driver immediately pulled away, leaving no time for a quick wave goodbye.

The woman flashed her an apologetic smile. “Anthea,” she spoke softly. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person Doctor Hooper.”

“Molly’s fine.”

They rode in silence half the time with Anthea glued to her mobile. If this was so urgent, why was this woman so calm in the face of possible danger? Maybe she was trained that way? Or was it natural? Molly wished she could stop her mind from forming so many frightening scenarios. She became so lost in her thoughts, she wasn’t aware when Anthea began speaking to her.

“Did you hear me, Molly?” she asked.

“Hm?”

“We’ve only got twenty minutes until we arrive.”

Molly took a look out the tinted window. “And where exactly are we?”

With a knowing smile, Anthea replied, “Sussex.”

* * *

After the strange ride with Anthea, and upon stepping out of the car, Molly realised whatever this was couldn’t have been as urgent as Mycroft had made her believe. They were at a beautiful 17th century cottage, painted a warm red on the outside. It was quite a bit larger than expected when hearing the word ‘cottage,’ but she found it to be charming. “Is this where Mycroft scurries off to for relaxation?” She wondered aloud.

Anthea let out a small laugh. “I’m afraid relaxation is the last thing he gets when he’s here.” She took out a key from inside pocket of her blazer, unlocked the door, and invited Molly to come inside.

* * *

“Sherlock, how many times—the victim couldn’t have done it!” John argued. They had been playing a regrettable game of Cluedo.

The detective furrowed his brows. “Why not? Nobody killed me—I faked my death.”

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed dryly.

“Thank you!” Sherlock told his brother.

Mycroft wasn’t finished. “But the person who officially killed you was not yourself; it was, in fact, Doctor Hooper that made it all possible.”

Mrs. Holmes perked up. “Oh I do wish we could meet her. I’ve wanted to thank her properly for taking care of my boy.” She affectionately patted Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock huffed. “If you could please refrain from—“ His eyes locked onto the very woman he was trying not to think about. She looked so tired, but was she ever more beautiful? He couldn’t recall. It had been months since they had been in such close proximity. “Molly.”

His mother, mouth agape in surprise, was the first to properly greet her. “Molly, dear, it is so wonderful to finally meet you. Sherlock has always talked about you with the upmost admiration.”

Molly went wide-eyed. “He—He does?” She had never felt so confused in her life.

“Anthea! Glad you could make it! Mikey, your girlfriend is here!” Mrs. Holmes leaned toward Molly, and spoke quietly. “I never thought I’d ever hear myself say that!”

All she could manage was a tight smile. This was all too much at once, and why the hell was she even here? Obviously everyone was fine—there was no urgent case. “Thank you for inviting me into your home, Mrs. Holmes, but may I please ask why am I here? I was told Mycroft needed me for a case.”

Sherlock frowned. “Yes, I’d like to know as well.” He thought for a moment, and added, “Not that I’m not pleased to see you, Molly. I assure you I had no prior knowledge of this. So, do tell us, Mycroft, if there’s no case, what was the point of dragging my pathologist all the way to Sussex?”

John sat there attempting to act innocent. Though he had no significant role in the plan, he still had knowledge of it, just as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes did too.

Mycroft sighed. “There is a case, but not of the criminal nature.”

“The only crime I see here is that you kidnapped Molly, and tricked her into coming here. She’s clearly uncomfortable, but she’s too polite to say so,” Sherlock snapped. He slid out his chair from the table, and walked off towards the back door, grumbling, “I hope you fail your diet.”

The silence afterwards was deafening. That is, until Mr. Holmes appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Is everything alright? I heard shouting.”

Mycroft only pinched the bridge of his nose dramatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that went well, right? Don't worry, Sherlock won't stay upset for long. In fact, I'm sure he'll be grateful in a couple chapters :p


	4. Take a Chance

Sherlock stood in the backyard wishing he had a cigarette. This was not the situation he wanted to find himself in the middle of. He was torn between wanting Molly here, to kiss her so soundly it would be hard to breathe, and wishing she wasn’t here at all. And of all people to make sure this happened, why was it his brother? What Eurus put them through changed their perspectives, and Mycroft wasted no time with Anthea who, like Molly, harboured feelings for a Holmes.

The backdoor clicked shut, and Sherlock sighed. “Can’t anyone leave me alone for five minutes?”

“No, Sherlock, we really can’t,” John joked. “I don’t understand what the problem is. For weeks, all you’ve talked about is wishing you could fix things with Molly, whatever that entails. And now, you’re suddenly uninterested in the chance that’s been given to you?”

“It’s complicated.”

John shook his head. “No, it’s really not. You are the one making things complicated. She loves you, you love her—that isn’t complicated at all.”

“It’s because I love her, I can’t be selfish with her. I’ve always known how I felt about her to some extent. I was going to tell her the day I took her on cases with me,” Sherlock admitted. “I couldn’t though. She was engaged and I felt she deserved a chance at a better life, even if Tom was quite dull in comparison.” He turned to his friend. “She is safer if we’re not together in any capacity. Eurus figured it out when nobody else could—not even Moriarty understood how important she was to me. Molly Hooper deserves better than that.”

John chuckled. “Jesus, Sherlock. Molly knows you better than anyone else—better than your family, even. She knows what she’s signing up for. Everyone in the world is in constant danger, but that doesn’t stop them from living their lives.”

“We aren’t talking about falling down the stairs or getting hit by a car—we’re talking about dangerous, twisted criminals.” Sherlock was fidgeting with his hands. “What I’d do for a cigarette right now.”

“You want a cigarette?” John asked, revealing the box he had hidden from Sherlock. “Talk to Molly. This may be the very last chance you’ll ever have to fix things.” He left the consulting git to his thoughts.

* * *

“Look, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, I am so appreciative of you wanting me here for Christmas, but I haven’t brought any of my things. I was led to believe it was an emergency,” Molly explained, still in her lab coat.

“I assure you, Doctor Hooper, it was an emergency,” Mycroft cut in. “You and my brother need to patch things up, and since neither of you appear to be willing to make the first move, I intervened.”

“And I actually have a couple of bags packed up with your things in the trunk of the car,” Anthea informed her. “This was all planned out meticulously.”

Molly stared at everyone dumbfounded. “Are all of you in on this?? Greg? Mike?”

Mr. Holmes broke the silence. “Everyone but Miss Rosie. When Mycroft told us of what had happened, we were more than happy to help. We’ve only heard about you through word of mouth, but my Millie always said”—the Holmes parents now spoke in unison—“That Molly, always so good for our Sherlock.”

She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. “You know, I think I need a drink. I’m too sober for this.” Molly plopped down in the chair Sherlock had vacated. 

“Please stay for Christmas, Molly,” Mrs. Holmes begged. “I know it would make Sherlock so happy, and by extension, you.”

The man in question appeared only a minute behind John. His eyes locked onto hers automatically. There always seemed to be this strong magnetic force pushing them together. He looked so sad behind those beautiful eyes. They were a dark shade of blue today, like waves crashing in a storm.

The moment was shattered when Anthea returned with Molly’s bags. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Molly gave Sherlock a small smile as she passed by. She could’ve sworn his eyes lit up for a brief second. The thought filled her with hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

* * *

After showering and changing into her black and pink flannel pyjamas, Molly crept downstairs only to find Sherlock in the chair by the fireplace, book in hand. He looked as if he was desperately trying to concentrate on the words. It was almost like he was attempting to escape his racing thoughts. Between the fire and the glow of the fairy lights on the Christmas tree, he almost looked ethereal. She tried to sneak past him as to not disturb his solitude, but he apparently wasn’t having any of it.

“Molly,” he called to her, the baritone of his voice sending a thrill through her.

She turned toward him, unsure of what she should be doing with her hands at this point. It was difficult feeling so exposed the way she was now. There would be no escaping the inevitable conversation she had easily avoided in London. “Yes?”

Sherlock locked his eyes on hers, warm and inviting, but frightened. “I owe you an apology.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it; this was all your brother’s doing. You’ve got nothing to apologise for,” Molly assured him with a wave of her hand.

Her heart felt like it nearly stopped when Sherlock stood from the chair, setting the book aside, and closed the distance between them. “I meant that I wanted to apologise for not going to see you…after, well, you know. I meant to, but it was all too much, and the longer I waited, the harder it was to even pick up the phone.”

She was taken aback. This wasn’t what she had expected at all. “It’s, um, it’s alright, Sherlock. Thank you for your apology.” Apparently, the surprises would never cease, because before she knew it, she was enveloped in his arms. It took her a moment to process, but she returned his hug, arms wrapped tightly around him.

“I missed you,” he spoke softly.

Molly closed her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. “I missed you too.”

He didn’t want to let her go—the thought of doing so made his heart ache. The fact she didn’t seem to be in a rush to get away settled his pulse. It told him she wanted to be in his arms as much as he wanted to hold her. Sherlock breathed her in, the scent of spiced honey and wildflowers filling him with warm familiarity. It was like finding a place he belonged—like home.

Pulling away from him, cause this needed to end eventually, Molly felt the loss of him, immediately regretting she had been the first to let go. It felt so much colder now. Sherlock’s face had gone stoic again, and that was what broke her heart the most.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “You should get some sustenance.” He motioned towards the kitchen. “My mother just made shepherd’s pie—it’s her specialty.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked with concern.

His eyes roamed the room quickly. “Not hungry.”

Molly watched as he headed upstairs, leaving her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it all begins to unfold...how sweet are they?


	5. One Step Closer

When Mycroft headed into his room where Anthea waited, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

“They’re speaking to each other, and there’s minimal to average physical affection,” he replied. “They’re not talking about the elephant in the room, but I have no doubt all will work out.”

Anthea smiled approvingly. “Let’s hope the first time you give a gift, it doesn’t crash and burn.”

Mycroft grimaced. “ _So_ glad to see you have every confidence in me.” He walked over to the bed, and sat upon it, his back facing her.

“You know what I mean, dear,” she told him. “I just meant that your plans tend to backfire, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.” Anthea did her best to not laugh aloud in remembrance of the first time Mycroft tried to show her how he felt.

“Don’t remind me,” he sighed.

**Three Months Ago**

_“Anthea, it has come to my attention that you’re a fully functioning female with above average intelligence,” he informed her._

_She knit her brows in confusion. “Sir?”_

_He tried again. “What I mean to say is I would appreciate if you kept away of being in the company of other men—especially Wilson. Who knew your standards were quite that low?”_

_She dropped her mouth open in shock, and walked right up to his desk, the clicking of her heels echoing in his office, and gave him a good smack. As she turned to walk out, Wilson came in with some files. Anthea approached him, tugged the lapel of his jacket and snogged him right in front of Mycroft, who was, for once, dumbfounded. And she left without a word._

_Wilson stood there in a daze having felt the rage in her kiss. “Wow,” he said in amazement, “you must have really pissed her off.”_

_Mycroft was not amused. He pointed to the door. “Get out.”_

Shaking the memory from his mind, Mycroft turned to face Anthea. “On second thought, maybe you should get more involved with the plan.”

“Oh no,” she laughed. “This one is all you—and your brother, of course. If anything goes wrong, the name Holmes will be written all over it which would make it understandable.” Anthea slipped under the duvet, and shut off her bedside lamp. “Now get changed and into bed, I’m exhausted.”

* * *

Sherlock hadn’t slept at all last night. With what little sleep he did get, his dreams were haunted by the words of John Watson: _“Talk to Molly. This may be the very last chance you’ll ever have to fix things.”_ He knew that John was right. So many scenarios played out in his mind where he never spoke with her. And every single time, it ended with him and Molly drifting apart. His mind even went as far as to show him she would eventually move on into the arms of another man—one who probably deserved her more than a man who couldn’t be brave enough for her.

After getting dressed, he made his way downstairs where his mother was reminiscing about her career as a mathematician with Molly who was looking through one of the books she had written. Both women looked up at him as he entered the room.

“You’re up early,” Mrs. Holmes commented.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied with a shrug, heading towards the kitchen.

Molly noticed how tired he looked, wondering if he ever got a decent night’s sleep after the Sherrinford Incident. “Try drinking some tea before bed,” she suggested to him, like she was one to talk. She could hardly sleep last night either even with the tea. 

“I’ll take that into consideration, thank you, Molly,” Sherlock smiled warmly. He met his mother’s knowing look. “Where’s father?” he asked.

Mrs. Holmes felt an idea brewing. “Went to pick up some eggs—we completely ran out what with all the baking. You know, why don’t you and Molly go into town for breakfast?” She turned to who she hoped would be her future daughter-in-law. “You would love it! It’s a little cottage diner on high street. Nettie makes the best fry up!”

Molly smiled. “That sounds delightful! What do you think, Sherlock?”

“Well, I—“

“Oh, Sherlock loves the food there,” she told Molly as she got up to leave the room. “Go on, you kids have fun!”

Molly looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, an amused smile forming on her lips. “I have to admit, your mum is a force to be reckoned with.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Once they began the drive into town, Sherlock had to admit he was thankful for his mother’s interference. He took a quick glance to his left at Molly in the passenger seat, her hair done up in a French braid. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to just throw all caution to the wind, and damn it all, he wanted to be selfish. But would it be considered selfish if she wanted the same thing? It was much too tempting.

“How’ve you been holding up?” Molly asked, breaking the silence. “Since…well, you know.”

She still cared for him—that was good. But, of course she did. One thing about Molly Hooper is when she gave you her love, it was unconditional.

 _Sherlock_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mary’s berated him. _If I have to hear you go on about how you don’t deserve her and she deserves better, I think I might die…again. Too soon?_ He ignored her in favor of the ache in his heart. “I’m getting by,” he replied to Molly. “But what about you? It’s not as if you escaped unscathed.”

“I’m okay,” she shrugged, but Sherlock knew better.

“You’re not okay,” he said matter-of-factly.

Molly sighed, turning to look out her window. “I’m just bloody frustrated,” she muttered to herself. Part of her hoped he had heard her.

* * *

He had heard her—loud and clear. Sherlock was tired of fighting with himself, and so, for their time at the diner, he let go. The two of them had a right good time, laughing it up and sharing stories, including memories that they couldn’t very well agree on.

Molly swallowed her last bite of food, having cleared the plate. “Alright, but I remember on John’s stag night, the two of you were pissed after only two hours, and I had to come pick you up in the morning!” She laughed. “I met Mary outside of the station and we were just laughin’!”

Sherlock took a sip of his tea. “I didn’t think it was particularly funny, Molly.”

“Oh, you know, you’re right,” she continued, laughing as she spoke. “It’s not nearly as funny as the seven voicemails you left me! You were so smashed!” Molly gave a light playful slap to his forearm.

His brows rose up. This was the first he had heard of this. “I…left you seven voicemails?” Was he too inebriated to remember? But he remembered so many other events of the night. “Molly, what did I say?”

She eyed him curiously. “You mean, you don’t remember?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not—what did I say?”

“I dunno,” she teased. “Maybe I want to keep it to myself.”

Sherlock tilted his head, clearly frustrated.

“Alright,” Molly conceded with a laugh. “Not one of them ever completed a single thought. It was like bits and pieces. In one you called me your pathologist quite possessively, then in another I think you said something about marriage changes people. Oh!” She was giggling now. “I think you called Tom a wanker in another one.”

He felt—what?—relieved? Embarrassed? Possibly both. “Right, well, no one said I could hold my liquor.” Sherlock returned the amused smile that was also on Molly’s face. 

Molly couldn’t help but notice how at ease she was around him. Those first couple of years she knew him gave her butterflies and frayed nerves, but ever since she helped him with his lazarus plan, there was a shift in their friendship. It became deeply intimate from that moment forward. It was when her crush turned into a raw, honest love. Not once did it waver. His apology last night sparked something in her, and she felt the need to say the words rattling around in her head before she lost her nerve. “Sherlock?” His eyes pierced hers inquisitively. “I just want you to know, I’m sorry too.”

He furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand—for what?”

She bit her lip anxiously. “This friendship”—she motioned between them—“whatever this is; it’s a two-way street. Last night, you apologised for not having gone to see me. Sherlock, I’m sorry for having not gone to see you. I knew what had happened and why, but I wasn’t brave enough to face it all. Neither of us were. I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it. I’ve tried, and it’s bloody awful. I forgave you. Can you forgive me?”

The muscles in his face relaxed, giving way to a softness that Molly had only ever seen a handful of times. “Of course I forgive you. I’ll let you in on a secret…”

They both leaned their heads forward.

“…I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it either. A life without you, Molly Hooper, would be too dull to imagine.” 

* * *

Whilst Molly went to have a look at the shops, Sherlock had an errand to run with an old friend. The bell on the door rang out when he made his entrance. The place was full of handmade jewelry, as far as the eye could see.

“As I live and breathe, Sherlock Holmes has come back for a visit!” The man behind the counter clapped his hands together. “It’s been an age! What can I do for ya?”

“Hello, Rupert, I need you to do something very important for me…”

* * *

Mycroft had been smoking in the backyard when Sherlock and Molly returned. He put out his cigarette just as his brother appeared. “And how was your morning with Doctor Hooper, brother mine? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“It was enlightening,” Sherlock answered.

Mycroft eyed him curiously. “And have you two discussed the events of that night?”

“Not yet,” he replied, looking down toward the ground. “It’s a delicate matter—a bit difficult to just bring it up, especially when we’re trying so hard to move past it.”

With a sigh, Mycroft shook his head. “Has it ever occurred to you, little brother, that it will be easier to move past it if you two have this conversation?”

Sherlock glared at him. “Of course it has! Honestly, Mycroft, why do you care so much? What’s in it for you?”

“Can’t I be a good brother for once?” he asked. “Is it so hard to believe I want you to be happy?”

Taking a moment to think things over, Sherlock turned around and turned back, unsure of how to process this information. “Yes, actually, it would be very hard to believe had we not just shared a traumatic experience three months ago.” He roughly ran his fingers through his curls. “Sherrinford changed you, Mycroft.”

“As it did you,” his big brother countered. “I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing, do you?”

“No,” Sherlock agreed. “For what I need to do, it isn’t. She loves me—God knows why. But I’m not blind to the fact that sometimes loving someone isn’t enough. I love her, but can I provide for her everything she needs? I doubt it.”

Mycroft walked up onto the stoop. “I’ll leave you with this: it’s not about asking whether you _can_ provide these things for her, but asking whether or not you are willing to try.” A knowing smirk appeared on his brother’s face, and then he was gone.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sherlock needed to talk to her. It was all he could think about. It was early evening when she entered the sitting room after dinner. His eyes couldn’t help but linger, especially since she was holding their goddaughter in her arms whilst she sang Christmas songs to her. He found that he enjoyed hearing Molly sing. He also noticed how she had stuck a red Christmas bow in her hair much to Rosie’s amusement, the lights on the tree reflecting off of it.

This adornment reminded him of another Christmas at Baker Street. It was a bittersweet memory. On one hand, it was the first time he had ever kissed Molly, though only on the cheek. But on the other hand, he still regretted his behaviour to this day. Knowing what he knows now, he knew he had been jealous, thinking she had been doing all of that for someone else. It was cruel to insult her the way he did. Allowing himself a quick glance, he admired the set of her lips and the swell of her breasts peeking out from her blouse. Though he wanted to, he didn’t allow his eyes to linger there too long, and settled on watching her eyes light up.

Molly caught him staring eventually, and she just beamed at him as if there was no place she’d rather be. “Look Rosie, your Uncle Sherlock is actually smiling for once.”

“I smile,” he argued playfully. His heart was pounding when she approached him, only mere inches away. “May I?” Sherlock held out his hands from where he sat on the sofa.

Carefully, Molly helped to settle Rosie in his arms and seated herself beside them. It warmed her heart to see him take an active role in the little girl’s life. Surprisingly, Sherlock was actually good with children in his own way. Rosie reached a hand up, her dimpled fingers grabbing her godfather’s nose. He gently pulled her hand away and pressed a quick kiss to her fingertips.

“I hope you’re being good for your Aunt Molly,” he told her softly. “She works very hard, and deserves everything she’s ever wanted.” Sherlock didn’t know what it was about talking to his goddaughter, but he found he didn’t feel so afraid saying these things though he was very aware that Molly was sitting beside him. When he glanced over at her, he noticed tears forming just at the waterline of her eyes, but she held them back.

Molly brushed back the wispy pale blonde curls on Rosie’s head. “Your Uncle Sherlock is just a big softie deep down,” she laughed quietly. “And you know what? He deserves just as much—especially to be loved.” She looked up and their eyes locked, neither unable to look away. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, and before she could talk herself out of it, Molly kissed him tenderly, lingering long enough to get lost in the feel of his lips on hers. She hadn’t given him enough time to kiss her back, the shock evident on his face when she pulled away.

Without a word, she stood and left the room suddenly in need of fresh air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to give y'all a little bit of Mythea haha! I feel like something's still wonky with this chapter even after rewriting it twice, adding scenes and cutting scenes shorter, but I hope y'all enjoyed it anyways! I love how Molly and Sherlock were communicating through talking to Rosie haha! And then Molly just taking matters into her own hands! They're getting somewhere now!


	6. Wrap Me Up in Your Love

Not long after Molly left the room, John had come downstairs, freshly showered. “Molly finally pass her off to you?” he asked in amusement. It took him a moment to notice the shock still written on his best friend’s face. “Sherlock? You okay, mate?”

“She kissed me.” He said it in complete disbelief, as if he didn’t already know how she felt.

John raised his brows. “Oh? And, uh, how was it?”

Sherlock had a far-off look in his eyes, Rosie still cradled in his arms half-asleep. “Unexpected.”

John’s face wrinkled as he drew his brows together. Not the answer he expected, but then again, it was Sherlock. “Plan on kissing her again?”

“Yes.” Sherlock had a lopsided smile on his face. He looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. “Sorry, Miss Watson, but I’m afraid I have something I need to do.” With that, he handed her off to John, and headed upstairs to spend some time in his mind palace.

Mrs. Holmes poked her head through the doorway. “Did someone say ‘kissing’?”

* * *

Molly pulled her cardigan around her, fighting the winter chill. Part of her was deeply satisfied that she made the first move, but another part of her worried she had pushed him too far. What if she had ruined everything they were starting to rebuild? What if—

“I thought I saw you run out here.” Siger Holmes approached her. “Is everything alright, my dear?”

She smiled, appreciative of his concern. It still amazed her how much Sherlock looked like his father. He had his mother’s eyes, and shared a few of her facial expressions, but looking at his father, she easily saw how her beloved would eventually age. “I’m fine,” she unsuccessfully fibbed.

Mr. Holmes tilted his head to the side. “I suspect that wasn’t the truth.”

“I see where he gets his observational skills from,” Molly remarked. “I am fine…but I’m also not fine.” She sighed. “I dunno, everything’s a mess. Things are going well, but it feel like it’s going _too_ well?”

“Ah,” Siger replied, “you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Well,” Molly nodded, “yeah, I guess. Everything has changed. I mean, I understand that we’ve all been through this trauma together, and I’m not just talking about what happened at Sherrinford, but this whole year—it’s been hell for all of us. No one is the person they used to be. I don’t know how I fit into his life anymore. We were so close. He was my best friend, and we drifted after all was said and done, and we’re trying to fix things now, but it doesn’t feel like I belong in his life any longer.”

Siger Holmes wasn’t a quiet man because he didn’t know what to say. He was more the listen and observe type. He always had thoughts in his head about every little thing, but he also carefully chose what he said aloud. Placing a hand upon her shoulder in a fatherly manner, he spoke the words he decided should be heard. “Has it occurred to you that he feels the same? Maybe it feels like a mess because the two of you are unsure of how welcome you are in each other’s lives. Miscommunications are poison in any kind of relationship, but it is up to the two of you to quit withholding your feelings out of fear.”

Tearing up, Molly laughed in acknowledgement that he was, in fact, right. “You remind me of my dad. He always gave the best advice. Thank you…for listening. I really needed it.”

He gave her a warm smile. “Of course, my dear. If I was your father, I’d be quite proud of you. Though I’m not, I still would be proud to have you as a daughter. Now, why don’t you come inside and get out from the cold. Wipe those tears, now. I sense that happiness is just around the corner.”

And Molly let out an enormous belly laugh, feeling that foreseen happiness already bubbling up to the surface.

* * *

Sherlock had been in his mind palace for who knows how long. All he could think about was that tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Molly’s gift would be ready to pick up from the jeweler just in time. This ruse his family and friends had organised to get her to spend Christmas with him turned out to be a good thing, though it wasn’t executed all that well. Mycroft had it all set to get her here, but beyond that, he left it up to the two of them to sort out for themselves.

All of his fears faded into the background when he was near her. Molly made him feel safe, wanted, and loved. Clearly, she wanted this too. He had felt it would be selfish to make her his, but he realised it was actually more selfish to deny her their last possible chance of having a life together, especially since he wanted it just as much. After that horrid call, Sherlock didn’t know where he stood with her. He didn’t think he had a well-deserved place in her life. That all changed with just a few words spoken to their goddaughter and a kiss that left him wanting more.

Looking at the time, he supposed he should try to get some sleep. He’d be lucky if he could close his eyes for a few minutes.

* * *

Tossing and turning, Molly Hooper could not, for the life of her, sleep a wink. Her head was full of thoughts of Sherlock. A light touch of her finger to her lips reminded her how it felt to kiss him. She wished she hadn’t pulled away so quickly. Perhaps, then, it would’ve given him a chance to kiss her back. But it was marvelous, regardless of the lack of cooperation. She could still hear the soft, breathless moan that escaped from the back of his throat the moment it happened.

Tomorrow she was going to speak with him; pour her heart out. There was so much she wanted to say…and do. But right now, Molly got out of bed, only clad in her black satin nightdress with lace lining. _Thank you, Anthea_ , she thought sarcastically. Deciding that trying to sleep was futile, she headed downstairs as quietly as she could manage, and headed into the kitchen. Hopefully Mrs. Holmes wouldn’t mind, but Molly really needed to do some late night baking to clear her head.

* * *

He sat up quickly having heard her footfalls on the carpet and her door clicking shut. Curiosity got the best of him. Sherlock stood right behind his door, listening to her fading footsteps as she descended down the stairs. When he felt the coast was clear, he opened his door slowly, and crept out into the hallway. He followed the path she took, finding her in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. She had flour, spices, and other ingredients gathered on the countertop.

“Can’t sleep either?”

She gasped and jumped at the sound of his voice, nearly hitting her head on the fridge. Turning around with a stick of butter in her hand, Molly sighed and shook her head. She shut the door behind her and set the butter on the counter. “I, uh, figured I’d try to clear my head. Baking helps…sometimes.”

Upon closer inspection, Sherlock realised just what she was making. “Ginger nuts?” A small smile spread on his face.

“Well, they’re your favourite,” she reasoned. “I mean, I noticed none had been made, and thought it’d be nice for you to have for Christmas“–Sherlock was advancing closer toward her—”as I’ve come here unprepared with an actual gift, and—mmm!“

He was everywhere at once, an all-encompassing force. One hand gripped her hip, the other at the back of her head. Their bodies pressed as closely together as possible. His lips pressed to hers so tenderly, she thought she might pass out from sheer joy. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, enticing her to open up to him, deepening the kiss. The taste of him left her lightheaded, uncaring of the sounds that were probably escaping her at the moment. And, _oh_ , the sounds he made were just too much. Molly could drown in him in this moment. All she could do was hold onto him for dear life, her arms around his waist, a hand itching to bury itself in his curls.

Sherlock drew back briefly, peppering her lips with soft, fleeting kisses. “Molly,” he breathed out. “My Molly.” And then his lips were no longer going for hers, but instead—

“Sherlock,” she whispered in delighted surprise. His mouth trailed down her neck, hot and languid. Molly tilted her head to give him more access, closing her eyes in an effort to soak in the moment. Before she knew it, he had her back up against the fridge, and covered her mouth with his in a searing, passionate snog. “God!” she exclaimed when he finally gave her a chance to breathe.

He smirked. “Mm, not quite.” The love in his eyes for her was almost too much to bare. “I adore you, Molly Hooper. We have so much to talk about, but there’s only one thing that matters for now.”

Molly eyed him in playful suspicion. “And what might that be?”

His hands reached up, cupping her face. He lowered his head, his eyes in direct contact with hers. “I love you, Molly. I love you so much, it hurts. I was afraid I no longer had a place in your life, but you've shown that's not true.”

A happy sigh escaped her slightly parted lips. “Sherlock Holmes, I love you too. I was afraid of the same. I'm so glad I was wrong.” She felt his hands slide down to her waist and he lifted her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Molly took the chance to card her fingers through his hair, laughing quietly as to not wake the household. He pressed a kiss to her neck, and set her down on her feet again. “Want to help me make the ginger nuts?”

He gave her a dazzling smile. “I’d love to.”

Sherlock assisted her, adding in ingredients as she needed them, though not without having a bit of fun with the flour. They rolled the dough into balls and placed them on the baking sheet, ready for the pre-heated oven. For the time it baked, Molly sat atop the counter with Sherlock’s help, and she let him have the floor, willing to listen.

“Mycroft, I’m sure, has told you only the part you played that night,” he stated. She nodded in confirmation. “You know I have a sister, and that her psychosis is severe. She put us through psychological tests. It was an experiment to her—it was vivisection.” Sherlock took a deep breath, and relaxed the moment Molly took his hand.

“I’m here, Sherlock,” she reassured him. It took a moment, but he nodded and continued. He told her of each test and the less-than-desirable results. The phone call being explained in his own words was like hearing it for the first time. He gave her details Mycroft hadn’t, such as the obliteration of the coffin that was meant for her. It broke her heart.

And then he told her about Redbeard, otherwise known as Victor Trevor. Tears slipped from his eyes as he relived it all, and Molly drew him in close, coaxing him to rest his head on her shoulder. Her fingers slowly brushed through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. Soon after, he lifted his head, his eyes gazing into hers, and pressed a tender lingering kiss to her lips.

The oven alerted them it was time to take the biscuits out, and Sherlock helped her down off the counter, but not before she took the time to wipe the remaining tear stains from beneath his eyes.

Once the biscuits firmed and cooled, Molly swept on a layer of icing. This was what made her ginger nut biscuits Sherlock’s favourites. He had the most worrisome sweet tooth, but she couldn’t help but indulge him. Before she stored them away, he swiped one to eat whilst it was still fresh and warm, practically having a food-gasm. She stifled a laugh, unable to hide her amused smile.

Silently, they made their way back upstairs, and just as Molly reached toward her door, Sherlock grabbed her hand and led her to his room. Who was she to say no? She happily followed along, suddenly thankful Anthea had only packed her best nighties. Not that she expected anything to happen here in his parents’ house of all places, but—

“Oh!” Molly squealed in surprise. As soon as the door shut behind them, he had pulled her in and proceeded to snog the breath out of her. They moved together in synchronization, walking towards the bed. Her legs hit the edge and she let the fall take her down.

Sherlock chuckled, lowering himself to the bed, his arms holding him up above her. “I’m going to make sure you never have a day where you question my feelings for you again. You will always know that I love you.” And he kissed her again. They soon took the time to explore and get lost in one another. And as they lay there, half-awake, basking in the afterglow, they were finally able to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope y'all enjoyed that!! I've got one more chapter to write before it's finished! All that angst finally payed off, huh? ;p


	7. Your Eyes Look Like Coming Home

It was the loud conversation that woke them first thing in the morning. Molly opened her eyes, surprised to see herself tangled up with Sherlock, but the memories came flooding back soon after. She lifted her head enough to be face to face with him, finding him with a sultry smile.

“Good morning, Molly Hooper.” His low voice reverberated through her. He brushed her lips with his, clearly enjoying himself.

Molly traced his bare chest with her finger tips. “Are you going to wake me up like that every time?”

He nuzzled her nose against his. “Mm, if you wish.” Sherlock pressed another kiss to the tip of her upturned nose. “What do you think? Should we go downstairs, and act as if nothing happened?”

“And disappoint everyone? I don’t know…” she replied. “…Though it would be quite the surprise if we kept it under wraps for now.”

“Indeed,” he smiled in agreement. Leaning over his side of the bed, he grabbed the satin black nightdress off the floor and handed it to Molly. “I think you’ll be needing this”—his eyes bore into hers—“especially for future occasions.” Sherlock gave her a sly wink, before getting up to find clothes for himself.

Molly took a moment to indulge herself and admire his form before slipping her nightdress over her head, but where were her—ah! A sigh of relief escaped her when she spotted her knickers on the floor. After slipping them back on, she approached Sherlock and raised herself up on her toes to give him a chaste kiss on his cheek before stealthily sneaking out of his room and into hers.

* * *

Mrs. Holmes slapped his hand away from the chelsea buns. “Mycroft Holmes, don’t you dare! Save some for your brother.”

“If he ever gets out of bed,” he grumbled.

John laughed as he fed Rosie. “You two have the worst sweet tooth I’ve ever seen. A family trait, I take it?”

“They come by it honestly,” Mr. Holmes remarked in amusement. “I’m lucky my wife loves to bake.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” she shot back playfully. “I remember there was a period where I had to keep him off the sweeties, and dear God, was he ever so difficult about it.”

Laughter erupted around the table.

“I don’t bake, myself, but I understand your struggle,” Anthea confessed. “I’ll bring Mycroft a sweet treat every now and then, but I always have to limit how often I do so.”

“Can we not?” Mycroft asked in annoyance.

Sherlock appeared in the doorway, making his way to the coffee machine sitting on the counter. “Morning.” He was in the midst of adding two sugars when Molly showed up.

“Good Morning, everyone! Morning Rosie!” She kissed the top of her goddaughter’s head, and began getting herself a cup of coffee as well.

Mycroft grinned mischievously. “So, how was the intercourse last night?”

Everyone at the table dropped their jaws, and Sherlock choked on his sip of coffee. Molly’s eyes widened silently asking herself how he figured it out.

“Well, the two of you seem rather uncharacteristically happy this morning, but of course I couldn’t help but notice that Doctor Hooper has a rather noticeable love bite on her neck,” Mycroft observed.

Molly, red in the face, clapped her hands together. “Oh-kay, that’s it, no making deductions before lunch.” She then reached up and felt around for the love bite, and sure enough, it was there. At least she left her hair down so it wasn’t fully noticeable. Giving an awkward smile and nervous laugh, she said, “I’ll be right back.”

“Tell me, Mycroft, was everyone teasing you so mercilessly, you had to embarrass Molly in order to throw attention off yourself?” Sherlock reprimanded his brother. He set his mug aside and left the room.

“He’s right, you know,” Mr. Holmes spoke up.

“That was a very naughty thing you did, Mikey. You should apologise,” Mrs. Holmes added.

He sighed, knowing he was in the wrong this time. Anthea didn’t say a word, but the glare she gave him told him enough. “Yes, mummy.”

* * *

Molly was attempting to cover up the love bite when a light knock sounded at the door. She took a deep breath. “Just a minute.”

“It’s me, darling,” Sherlock told her, opening the door enough to slip through. He approached her and gathered her hair in his hands to help her see. “Are you alright?” He could see her smile at him in the mirror.

“I’m fine—I was just caught off guard,” she told him. “Of course everyone was going to find out sooner or later, but I never thought it would be in that manner.” Molly added the last bit of powder needed. “I don’t know how we missed this being here.”

Sherlock gave a light chuckle. “There’s always one thing. Sorry I got so carried away.”

“It’s alright,” she assured him, setting down the brush. “There, hardly noticeable.” Molly felt her hair fall in silky waves as he let go, and turned towards him. “Thank you for checking on me.” 

Before he could answer, another knock sounded at the door. Sherlock opened it to an uncomfortable Mycroft.

“Hello, yes, I, um, wanted to apologise for my behaviour,” he stammered. “It was rather distasteful of me, and I hope you can forgive me—both of you. I am rather glad the two of you finally caved.”

Molly smiled kindly. “You’re forgiven, Mycroft.” She glanced toward Sherlock who didn’t appear to be in a forgiving mood. Just as she did at Rosie’s christening, she lightly elbowed him.

He sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven. I suppose if it hadn’t been for your inane idea, we wouldn’t have gotten this far so quickly.”

Sherlock’s mobile rang.

“Rupert? Are they ready? I’ll be right over.” He slid his mobile back into his pocket. “I’ve got to run an errand in town—I’ll be back quickly, promise.” With that, he kissed the top of Molly’s head, and darted out the door.

Mycroft furrowed his brows. “Any idea what that was about?”

Molly only answered with a shrug.

* * *

Christmas Eve was upon them in what felt to be only a matter of moments, the day having passed by so quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had everyone gather in the sitting room where the fire was crackling and the tree was sparkling with its fairy lights reflecting off the decorative baubles. It was time to open gifts. Of course, when their children were young, they waited until Christmas morning, but ever since they became adults, it was always on the eve of Christmas.

One by one, they went around the room starting with Rosie. And then it was Sherlock’s turn, but instead of opening his gifts, he produced one from inside his jacket pocket. It was a small rectangular box perfectly topped with a bow made of ribbon.

“I think Molly should go first,” he said whilst smiling at the woman beside him.

She laughed nervously. “I didn’t get you anything, though.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Nonsense Molly, you’ve given me everything.” He encouraged her to take the gift from him.

She obliged out of curiosity and pulled one end of the bow to undo it in one graceful motion. The lid was removed next to reveal a gorgeous pair of earrings; antique bronze finish, inlaid with blue fire opal in the center with Swarovski crystals surrounding it. The shape made them look like bright stars in the night sky. The blue fire opal with its varying shades of blue and green reminded her very much of Sherlock’s eyes. “They’re beautiful,” she remarked. “Sherlock, thank you.”

His smile reached his eyes which crinkled at the corners. “I’m glad you like them, Molly.”

“I love them.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

John cleared his throat, worried that they may have forgotten there were other people in the room. The blushing of Molly’s face confirmed that for him.

Mrs. Holmes looked on in awe of her son and Molly. She was truly elated over their reconciliation.

Loud conversation continued throughout the room. Molly now wore the earrings which gleamed when the light hit just right. She was playing with Rosie on the floor and was surprised when Sherlock settled down beside her. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple as he held on to one of her hands.

Molly closed her eyes at his touch.

“Perhaps,” he spoke softly to her, “next year I could give you a ring.” He smirked when he heard her intake of breath.

She decided to tease him a bit. “Perhaps I say no.”

Sherlock kissed the spot below her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” he replied playfully. Her eyes locked on his now, both their hearts thrumming wildly in their chests. Despite the audience they no doubt had, he kissed her, smiling against her lips at her enthusiastic reciprocation. It didn’t last nearly as long as he wanted. Touching his forehead to hers, words he said years ago came bubbling to the surface. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”

* * *

Molly's Earrings (Can be bought from Taylor Swift's merch store :p)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!! I hope y'all enjoyed the final chapter! I know I had fun writing this one!! Thank you so much for reading and thank you to those of you who left reviews! x

**Author's Note:**

> A little update for those of you who aren't on tumblr. I'm back writing, and today marks 13 days since I broke free of my depression. I'm so thrilled to be sharing this story with you! My writing may be a little rusty, but I'm sure the kinks will get worked out through this fic!


End file.
